If I loved you less
by Icha
Summary: Conversing with his nephew, Chief Justice Lefroy reminiscing on his past with Jane Austen. Chapter 5: the last chapter where The Chief told his nephew the history of Cadell letter and the ‘boyish love’.
1. Thomas and Jane

**If I Loved You Less…**

**A 'Becoming Jane' story, by Icha**

**Rating: K**

_Summary: __Conversing with his nephew, the retired Chief Justice Lefroy is reminiscing on his past with Jane Austen. Inspired by 'Becoming Jane' the movie. Many grateful thanks to Rachel Kingston for her great beta._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Jane Austen and her characters, or any other characters in this story. The story takes place in several time frames, i.e. 1795-1799, 1802, 1817, 1840, and 1867, based on several facts known about Jane Austen and Tom Lefroy. Should gentle readers like to know more of the facts, please visit Becoming Jane Fansite in the 'About Tom Lefroy' section. _

-xxx-

**Chapter 1. Thomas and Jane**

_Mid June, 1867, Bray_

The Newcourt villa felt quiet, despite the lovely summer afternoon breeze blowing from the coast of Bray. Had it not been for a middle-aged woman tucking herself among the rose shrubs, no one would think that the house was inhabited. However, a luxurious carriage had just entered the villa gate and its only passenger understood that there would be at least one person inside the villa who was much related to himself, and who was exceedingly grateful for the lady in the rose garden.

As his carriage entered the gate, and before it passed through the lovely fountain in the middle of the pathway, the rose lady had heard of him coming. She stood up and tucked her white hair underneath her bonnet as she squinted, trying to see her guest in the afternoon sunlight of Bray. The elderly woman suddenly lit up.

'Thomas!' she proclaimed, and after casting aside her hamper, she walked to welcome her visitor who in turn extended his head over the carriage window and shouted back in excitement.

'Jane! How nice to see you! How are you?'

'Very well thank you Thomas, but especially well if you let the carriage stop properly before yelling at me like that.' Despite her old age, the woman called Jane laughed merrily. 'You might wake Father!'

'Dear me!' Exclaimed the guest called Thomas, a middle-age gentleman in his fifties who was dressed in immaculate travelling clothes. 'I did not think of that!' The carriage halted a few steps before her and, despite his age, the excited passenger almost leaped out to ground.

'But of course, you did not think of that,' Jane pretended to scowl. 'Since when did you truly think properly, dear Cousin?'

Thomas Edward Preston Lefroy grinned and hugged his cousin with a loving sigh. After a while, he released her and took in the surroundings. 'Oh… it's so good to be finally here with you, Jane. Bray looks as beautiful as you described in your letters. I trust that everything is in order?'

Jane Christmas Lefroy smiled and, still holding the hand of her cousin, chattered, 'As fine as any lovely Bray summer day can be. I have to tell you that my love of this town truly grows every day. Not that I can say that Carrigglas is not agreeable, mind you. But the sea breeze here has surely helped Father tremendously. In fact, we went horse riding this morning; passing Killruddery House &c on the way. Very capital!'

'Indeed!' said Thomas. 'You must tell me every detail of news I have not heard of since our last letters.' And then, to his driver he said, 'Can you please bring my luggage to the hall? I will settle the payment there.' Then, back to Jane, 'Yes, I am so grateful to have the opportunity to visit you and Uncle here; I did not think that I would make it.'

'But indeed, you did, Thomas. And a fortnight before my birthday.'

'Yes, your birthday,' Thomas looked fondly into Jane's blue eyes. 'I have been looking forward to it; that was why I set off earlier than planned.'

'But, Cousin, you need not have done so,' Jane started to walk with Thomas towards the villa. 'I rarely celebrate my birthday in any fashion whatsoever anyway. I was actually surprised to receive your letter that informed us of your coming here. Not that I am not glad to have you here, mind you. But travelling across the strait just to see an old maid celebrating her birthday?'

'Ah, but it will be your 65th birthday, Jane, and it is a special number for any women. And since you are my favourite cousin, I somewhat felt intent to come here and celebrate it with you!'

'Well… since you are so obliging, I feel I should thank you now for coming here and leaving your Jemima and children in London. My brother Anthony is also coming here, but not until the 22nd. By the by, how is Jemima?'

In full spirit, Thomas described the latest news of his family he had left in England. They entered the villa and were relieved to feel the coolness of air within the parlour. While Jane fetched the servant to bring some refreshments for her cousin, Thomas fixed the carriage payment and relaxed on the sofa.

-xxx-

Jane Christmas Lefroy was the eldest daughter of the retired Chief Justice Thomas Langlois Lefroy of Ireland. She was soon to reach her 65th birthday, but she had not expected anything other than a simple birthday with her father and sisters; Anne and Mary Elizabeth. Her sisters were now in Carrigglas, Longford, but they would come to Bray the following week.

Now a renowned judge of England, Thomas Edward Preston Lefroy had always been a dear cousin to Jane. She was thirteen years old when he was born on 30th of August, 1815. She would not see him for the first time until he was almost one year old, brought by Anthony Lefroy and his wife Elizabeth Wilkin to Ireland to see Uncle Thomas Langlois Lefroy. Baby Thomas was chubby with big curious dark eyes; Jane fell in love with him instantly.

And so was Jane to Thomas. Although Thomas Langlois Lefroy had two other daughters (Anne, who was two years younger than Jane, and Mary Elizabeth, who was two years younger than Thomas), Jane was the big sister for Thomas. During summer and winter holidays, both children usually played together. Well, Jane was soon too old to be called a little girl then; by the time Thomas was five, Jane was already a lovely eighteen years old young woman with soft curly light-coloured hair, almost blonde, and bright blue eyes – her father's eyes. Thomas remembered looking at Jane with admiration as she prepared herself for a Christmas party; no doubt with many boys ready to offer her wine and compete for the chance to dance with her. By the time Thomas was fifteen and had realised that girls were not actually that annoying (the only nice girl for Thomas so far had been Cousin Jane), and that they could be as lovely as their curly dolls, Jane was already eight and twenty. Twenty-eight years old, and still unmarried.

Thomas recollected one particular evening when he was still a young boy visiting his uncle in Dublin. He was sitting idly, tired of dancing with boring mundane girls around him. Jane had just finished a polka session with a gentleman of a mild manner who clearly thought of Jane as pretty and enchanting. Jane, on the other hand, thought indifferently of him, and strolled across the dance floor to join her cousin.

'Finished dancing, did you?'

'So it seems,' she said and sat down carefully, fixing her elaborate ball gown and curly hair set. Thomas could never understand how women could stand with such tight garments and still smile cheerfully. Still, Jane Christmas Lefroy was charming with her blue summer dress. 'Do you not dance? The Peterson girl was looking at you constantly.'

'I don't care. That gentleman you danced with also stared at you like he had never seen a woman before. Are you going to marry him?'

Jane giggled. 'Thomas Lefroy, what a silly question! What makes you think that?'

Thomas shrugged. 'He looks like he's going to propose you. Do you like him?'

'No. What do you think of some punch?'

'So you're not going to marry him?'

'We have just met, and I am not interested in him. Shall we get some wine?'

'Are you ever going to get married at all?'

Jane's attempt to stand up and move was abruptly stopped. She sat down slowly, and then even slower turned to face her teenage cousin. Thomas was almost as tall as her now, and soon enough, he would be taller than her.

'I don't know, Thomas …' she pursed her lips and made up her mind. 'No. I do not think so.'

Thomas was astounded, 'But you're so beautiful! Every gentleman in Ireland wants to marry you. Why do you not want to?'

Jane did not reply for a while, and suddenly Thomas felt a nagging feeling of sorrow. 'I don't know, Cousin…' she finally replied. 'Perhaps, because I have not felt true love yet.'

'But that's nonsense! Surely you have received at least one marriage proposal before!'

'Thomas dearest…' Jane's blue eyes looked into Thomas' dark eyes with sisterly love. 'Marriage proposal is rarely about love. So far, I have yet the luxury to meet love at all.'

Thomas did not know what to say. He mumbled something unintelligible even for himself before finally responding decisively, 'Then I will marry you! Just wait, Jane. I will marry you!'

A sparkle of humour emerged from within Jane's eyes. 'Indeed, Thomas! And what do you think we shall do then? Fighting all the time?'

'We never fight!'

'Oh, sometimes we do.'

'But it is because we like each other. No, because we love each other!'

'Yes, dearest, but that is not the kind of love we need for marriage. Now do me a favour if you may? Fetch me a glass of wine. I am exceedingly thirsty.'

Thomas tried to read Jane's mind, but she already diverted her attention to her gloves (which, upon her reflection, were not of suitable colours for the evening). He shrugged and walked to fetch the wine, while fixing his plan to marry his cousin as soon as he finished his education.

But life did not always go as planned. As he grew up to become a prominent lawyer, Thomas realised that his love for Jane was indeed kinship love, and Jane also did not harbour romantic feelings towards him. Thomas still accompanied Jane throughout her thirties, but as Jane reached her fortieth year, Thomas Edward Preston Lefroy met another cousin that would change his life: Anna-Jemima Lefroy, daughter of Anna-Austen Lefroy and Benjamin Langlois Lefroy. Thomas married Jemima, as she was usually known, on 9th September 1846, and stayed to build his new family with her in London. Across the channel, Jane Christmas Lefroy (and her other sisters) remained single and focused their attentions to accompany their father, the old Chief Justice Lefroy, in Ireland.

-xxx-

'Excellent dinner, my dear, as always,' the ninety-one years old Thomas Langlois Lefroy slowly placed his fork and smiled lovingly at his daughter. 'We have to praise the Lord for the lovely dinner, and also Margaret for her cooking.'

'Of course, Father,' Jane smiled back as she dabbed her lips with the napkins. 'But the stew was mine, Father, the stew was mine.'

'Indeed!' exclaimed her father who then chuckled. Despite his old age, ninety years old last January, he still spoke considerably well, albeit slowly. 'Well… you are indeed a great cook then. The best _stobhach gaelach_ I have ever had so far.' _S__tobhach gaelach_ was the popular Irish stew Tom Lefroy always loved, even when he reached his nineties.

'Uncle, you should ask her to bake her own birthday cake,' teased the junior Thomas Lefroy as he pushed his empty plate with relief. 'We will be too well-fed, I daresay!'

'Mind your health, Thomas,' said Jane and resumed with 'You are not as young as you wish now', to which Thomas replied with a polite 'Yes, Ma'am'. Jane attempted to swallow her smile but did not succeed as she offered tea for the next session.

Both of the Lefroy gentlemen consented to the offer of tea; the younger asked if the tea could be brought to the library, for he would like to converse with his uncle there. Jane delivered the message to the maid and helped her father thither the library before excusing herself for she had other matters to attend to.

The younger Thomas had been a little disappointed that his favourite cousin would not accompany their tea session before he reminded himself that Jane had accompanied him for the afternoon tea as he arrived today. And now, looking at his uncle (who was making himself comfortable in his old chair), Thomas realised that Jane intentionally refused the tea tonight to give him more time with the retired Chief Justice of Ireland. He then began to appreciate his moment of solitude with his uncle; for Tom Lefroy was an uncle he shared the closest emotional ties, despite his uncle's busy schedules and their rather infrequent meetings.

The close relationship between Thomas Edward Preston Lefroy and his uncle Thomas Langlois Lefroy was not only due to their similar occupations. Both gentlemen were respected judges in their own countries, although between the two of them, Tom Lefroy had the higher position being the Chief Justice of Ireland. Long before Thomas was called to the Bar in 1844, he had been in regular contact with his uncle, albeit mostly through letters. It was a fact that Tom Lefroy once helped Thomas' father to obtain the title of Barrack-Master, after the London-based great uncle Langlois cut off the financial support for Anthony Lefroy for marrying the 'undesirable' Elizabeth Wilkin. Anthony owed his brother so much, and he kept telling his family not to forget Tom Lefroy's merits. After his father's death about ten years ago, Thomas became the main liaison person between the York Lefroys and his venerable Uncle Tom Lefroy.

Yet, it was not merely the moral debt or occupation similarity that made Thomas feel a close kinship with Uncle Tom. It was something else that sometimes he could not comprehend. Thomas could only say that he always felt at ease every time he conversed with his uncle, who – for many – were considered a stern judge and a very rigid pious man. Letters between them flew regularly, despite their own busy schedules, particularly after Tom became the Chief Justice of Ireland and Thomas became the judge of county courts in England. In between their discussions of laws and religious aspects, Thomas often saw a glimpse of a less-known Tom Lefroy; a more cheerful Tom Lefroy that wished for someone to reach out to him and to let him speak of something else other than law and religion. But what that aspect of Tom's character meant; until now, Thomas Edward Preston Lefroy never understood. And he wanted to know tonight.

'So, Uncle,' Thomas started the conversation as he browsed numerous books on the shelf. '– I heard from Jane that you had been horse riding this morning?'

'Do not attempt to ban me from riding, Thomas,' the old Tom Lefroy responded airily as he reached for a book on the nearest table. 'That will not do, I should warn you, for Anthony and the like already said as such many times and I still went.'

'Jane approved of it?'

'My own Guardian Angel?' Tom Lefroy often referred to Jane as his own Guardian Angel. He smiled. 'She always approved of things healthy for me. Besides –' he opened the book and flipped through the pages, '– she loves horse riding herself.'

'You should give her another horse for her birthday,' said Thomas, on which the older Tom Lefroy negated by stating that Jane would not want it now. The younger Thomas shrugged. 'Just as well. She looked healthy and happy…gentle, like a falling snow drop. Speaking of which –' he sat down next to his uncle. 'Was that the reason you gave her the name Christmas? Was it with reference to that obscure ancestral relationship with that Christmas gentleman… or was that a lady?'

Thomas could swear that he detected a split second halt of book flicking and enigmatic sparks from his uncle's eyes as the latter replied, 'Elizabeth Christmas. The ancestor of your aunt's father. Can you pour me the tea, Thomas?'

'Oh, yes, of course.' Thomas strode to the table next to his uncle where the tea set was placed. Then, as he poured the tea for both of them, he asked again, 'Was it not Mr. Christmas Paul or something similar? You said before that it was a male.'

His uncle flicked another page open. 'Is that so? Well, then, since you remembered anyway, why did you ask?' Another page was flipped without any recognition of its contents.

Thomas frowned as he offered his uncle tea; his uncle nodded, placed the book down and sipped the tea. 'I'm not sure, to tell you the truth…' Thomas then sat opposite his uncle and drank his own tea. 'It's just that… I always find it strange that such a long ancestral relationship can be an inspiration for Jane. Not that I do not like her name. I think it's a lovely name.'

'Yes, of course, that was the reason I chose the name,' his uncle smiled. 'Nice tea, Thomas. Thank you.'

'Or perhaps –' Thomas was still with his own train of thoughts. ' – Jemima's mother asked me a few weeks ago about Jane's name. She also found the Christmas name rather unusual, though not unattractive.'

'Jemima's mother?' another flicker of light in the old Tom Lefroy's eyes. 'Anna Austen, you mean?'

'The very one. Though we should address her as Mrs. Lefroy, I believe.' His uncle did not respond. Instead, he took another sip and closed his eyes. Thomas felt his throat clogged as he prompted, 'You…ehm, you know Mrs. Lefroy, I believe?'

The retired Chief Justice Lefroy did not answer for a time. When he did speak, his voice sounded as if coming from a distance. 'Yes, I do know Anna. She was… just a little girl when I first saw her.'

'In Steventon? In Hampshire?'

Thomas Langlois Lefroy opened his eyes, and when he placed his stare upon his nephew, the younger Thomas felt like the accused in a courtroom. 'Why do you ask, Thomas?'

The nephew cleared his throat, recalling that his uncle had not been elected as the Chief Justice for nothing. After a moment of silence reminding himself that he was also a judge in his own right, Thomas replied, 'Because she did not remember you… and she wish she did. But she was just a two year old girl, back then, was she not? And she was unlikely to remember anything.'

'Is that important? That she remembered me, I mean?'

'For her, yes.' Thomas fidgeted with his tea cup uncomfortably under the gaze of his uncle before resuming, 'I mean…she thought that remembering you might help her… to build a memoir.'

'A memoir?!' The old Tom Lefroy was indeed surprised. 'Whatever for?'

'The Austen family…' Thomas slowly regained his leverage, '– they plan to write a memoir for the late Miss Jane Austen. You know, the novelist, Jemima's great aunt. Since you…well, visited Hampshire when the late Miss Austen was still a young girl, Jemima's mother thought that, well… Let's just say that Mrs. Lefroy wish she remembered you ever visiting Miss Austen back then, so she could tell a story of Miss Austen's friends.' After taking a short break to breathe, he resumed. 'Obviously, she did not. Thus, I just had a thought to ask you, Uncle… if you – '

'Know Jane Austen?' the tone arrived again as if from afar.

Thomas tilted his head and slowly asked, 'Do you? I mean, did you?' As his uncle remained silent, Thomas resumed, 'Uncle, do you remember a particular time more than twenty five years ago when you asked me to go to London to obtain a particular letter from Cadell & Davies? It was a letter about Miss Austen. I could not remember the details, for I sent it to you immediately after I purchased it. You promised back then that you would explain the importance of the letter to me. In time.' Thomas fidgeted with his tea cup again. 'Do you not think this is the time?'

Ever so slowly, Thomas Langlois Lefroy placed his cup and gazed at the ceiling. 'Did I know Jane Austen? ... Yes, of course I did.' He paused, then amended his statement, 'Of course I _do_. She was not a soul easy to forget.'

'So –' Thomas fixed his seated, 'You did dance with her?' Upon his uncle's questioning gaze, he added, 'Well… it was said that –'

'Said? Who said so?'

'Mrs. Lefroy was talking with Jemima about dance when she said that her aunt, Miss Jane, was an excellent dancer and that she often would often lead dances. She also said that once or twice she danced with you,' Thomas felt his anxiety increasing. He shrugged as he added, 'Just ladies' gossip, you know.'

To Thomas' relief, his uncle smiled. A weak smile, but a smile nonetheless. 'I am not sure about the gossip's details, and I prefer not to know. But indeed I should say that we shared a lovely dance session, Miss Austen and I. No. Several lovely dance sessions. She was indeed a great dancer, Miss Austen. A graceful dancer.'

'Then… you knew her well?' Thomas asked cautiously. His concerns evaporated as soon as his uncle looked at him and gave him another faint smile. 'Was she indeed as charming and witty as her novels? Or tolerably, at least?'

'Tolerably? Exceedingly!' Tom Lefroy smiled as if to himself. 'The late Miss Austen was more charming and witty than her novels, I should say…'

'Ah… indeed…' Thomas mumbled several unintelligible words before he resumed, 'How did you take it… when you heard her death?' he cleared his throat. 'Her family was very sad… Jemima's mother cried the whole night. Did you… as her friend… were you sad?'

'Sad?' Tom Lefroy cast a glance over a thin shred of silver moonlight that fell on the carpet. Part of the silvery moonlight was reflected back by tears glazing his eyes. When he spoke again at last, his voice was mournful but clear.

'I was devastated.'

-TBC-

_**Author's note:** _

_According to Deirdre Le Faye ('Jane Austen's Letters'), in 1798, __Thomas' father (Anthony Lefroy) married Elizabeth Wilkin, who 'was considered in some way undesirable'. As the result, the Langlois family (Tom's benefactor) did not provide financial assistance for Anthony's family. Later on, Tom Lefroy helped his brother to become the Barrack-Master in Arundel (I assume it was the England Arundel), and later York (England) where the family branch lived. There are records that TEPL was a lawyer as well, called to the London Bar on June 7__th__, 1844, and later became Judge of County Courts in England. Hence, I assume TEPL lived in London with Jemima, for I have not found any records of his residence in the 1860s. That does not mean that such records do not exist, though. _

_Next: What happened to Tom Lefroy as he learned of Jane Austen's death?_

_**PS 30 August 2007:**_

_It occurs to me, based on a review by Kate (thanks Kate)__, that readers might confuse the two Thomases here. Hence, herewith I reiterate that 'Thomas Lefroy' or Thomas Edward Preston Lefroy was the younger Thomas, nephew of Tom Lefroy (Thomas Langlois Lefroy). I may make mistakes, but I try to refer to our Tom (Jane Austen's Tom) as either Tom Lefroy or Chief Justice Lefroy, or something like that. By the same token, the 'Thomas Lefroy' that Jane Christmas (daughter of Tom Lefroy and Mary Paul) was talking to during the ball in Dublin was the younger Thomas Edward Preston Lefroy from England, born in 1815, son of Anthony Lefroy (not to be confused with Anthony Peter Lefroy, father of Thomas Langlois Lefroy)._

_And the 'Memoir of Jane Austen' was indeed published on 16 December 1869, hence would be written in 1868/69, or perhaps initiated beforehand. Modern editors of the Memoir believed that the death of Frank Austen (Jane's fifth brother, the last of Jane's siblings to die) in 1865 triggered the need to preserve Jane Austen's memories in the form of a memoir._


	2. Death of a Maiden

**If I Loved You Less…**

**A 'Becoming Jane' story, by Icha**

**Rating: K**

_Summary: Conversing with his nephew, __the retired Chief Justice Lefroy reminiscing on his past with Jane Austen. Inspired by Becoming Jane the movie. Many grateful thanks to Rachel Kingston for her great beta._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Jane Austen and her characters, or any other characters in this story. The story takes place in several time frames, i.e. 1795-1799, 1802_, _1817, 1840, and 1867, based on several facts known about Jane Austen and Tom Lefroy. Should gentle readers like to know more of the facts, please visit Becoming Jane Fansite in the 'About Tom Lefroy' section. _

-xxx-

**Chapter 2. Death of a Maiden**

_Leeson Street, Dublin, early August 1817_

From the light steps and the rustle of muslins, Thomas Langlois Lefroy knew that his wife was approaching the library; his solitary room. He did nothing. Instead, he returned his attention to the letter on the table next to him and fought the heavy weight upon his chest.

'Thomas?' He heard her entering the library. 'Thomas, are you alright? Jane said you were ill.' He ignored her and cast a glance at the last remnants of sunlight in Dublin that fell upon his beloved garden. He attempted to force himself to look up as Mary Paul Lefroy approached him, but he could not. He simply could not. Hence, he just stared at the garden that was bathing in the golden evening sunlight.

'Thomas…?' Mary's voice was rich with concern. She had just returned from visiting her friend in town when she heard from her eldest daughter Jane that her husband was unwell. The fifteen years old Jane knew nothing except that her father had returned home from the court looking exhausted and pale; like he had seen a ghost.

Upon receiving no response from her husband, Mary grew weary. 'Tom… dearest, pray tell me what happened?' She touched his shoulder tenderly. 'Is there something wrong at the Court? You had to punish someone? Did somebody die?'

Upon the word 'die', Tom Lefroy jilted and, as if he had just awoken, looked at his wife a way he had never before. Something in his face caught Mary's attention. Tom's countenance was pale; deprived of his usual spirit and calmness. In fact, he looked like someone who had lost his grounding, unsure what to do or where to go. A hunch struck Mary and, lest someone they knew had died, she intuitively turned her attention to a letter abandoned on the table nearby. Mary Paul Lefroy felt a clog in her throat.

'May I?' she whispered and, without waiting for his response, she reached for the letter and read it silently. The letter was dated a week ago, the end of July, and was written by a Henry Austen from England and addressed to 'Mr. Tom Lefroy'. Obviously, this Mr. Austen was not a court person, for nowadays her husband was addressed appropriately as the King's Counsel.

_Dear Sir, _

_My sincere apology for being late in responding to your letter, which arrived a few days ago, for I was busy taking care of the burial of the most beloved sister of mine._

_Indeed Sir, I am at a loss of how to tell such devastating news. Had I not received your letter, I would defer the news for as long as possible. However, recalling the promise I had made almost ten years ago in Dublin that I would relay any important news with regards to my beloved sister, particularly upon your inquiries, I herewith, with very heavy heart, deliver you this report._

_My beloved sister, Miss Jane Austen, was taken to death last July 18 at the age of forty one. She left this world very early in the morning before the sunrise as she lay down on the lap of my other sister Cassandra, who would later confess that Jane looked as pretty and peaceful as a sleeping child. Jane's illness, as you have learned a year ago, was irreversible, and her health was too deteriorated for a recovery. Our family thought that we would be ready for this event, but alas, nothing can ever prepare you to face the death of your own sister._

_As I said__, I just attended the ceremonies of Jane's burial in Winchester. I am now back in London where I shall finish what she began; publishing her two last novels. I am not sure yet what the titles will be, for the beautiful authoress left no such wish in her will. Between Cassandra and myself, we will find the most suitable titles. _

_I trust you are well and will take this news in the best possible way. I am not sure whether we will meet again soon, or ever, but if you visit England one day, do find me in either Chawton or Hampshire. You can certainly leave notes in Ashe; they will find me. Until then, I wish you all the best._

_I remain, dear Sir, sincerely yours,_

_Henry Austen_

Mary re-read the letter several times until she concluded that she was confused as to why Tom was so devastated by the news. Could it be that this Miss Austen was a friend of Tom's? Surely that was the reason, for the death of a friend was indeed sad news. Mary cleared her throat.

'I see. I am sorry, Thomas. It is indeed such discouraging news… the death of a friend. Was she very ill?' She received no response but a faint nod. 'Have you known her for a long time? The letter indicates so.'

Tom Lefroy still made no efforts to reply, or if he did, it was to no avail. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again and returned his attention to the garden. Night had fallen, and the garden was dark now. Mary called her maid to turn on the lights and, ignoring the maid's actions, returned her attention to her husband. The maid had just left the room when Mary recognised the date mentioned in the letter.

July 18. It was more than two weeks ago, but she still remembered it vaguely. She had an important business to attend to that morning (she had forgotten what it was now), but she remembered that she had planned to wake up earlier than usual. She indeed woke up earlier, but not as a result of herself.

Tom Lefroy, a sound sleeper, had awoken hastily beside her, choking and trembling. His shirt was soaked, his breathing was unusually fast, and he looked so scared. She had asked what the cause had been, but he just mumbled something about his father, Mr. Anthony Peter Lefroy, who had been sick. Then, after several attempts to go back to sleep, Tom rose and walked to the library. He did not return until breakfast when he produced a letter from his pocket, to be posted immediately. When she asked of its recipient, he replied that it was for his father. In retrospective, Mary now remembered that Tom had answered reluctantly, very unlike him.

Nonetheless, her business prevented Mary from asking more questions. She returned home that day to find Tom in a much better condition, albeit still looking worried. A letter from his father arrived that afternoon, and Mary was relieved to learn that news from Limerick was not disturbing. The following morning, Mary had forgotten the incident.

Until now. She now realised that it was the morning of July 18 that Tom had awoken in a shocked state; the same day Miss Austen died.

'Who was this Miss Austen?' In her otherwise calm state, Mary would reprimand herself for using such an accusing tone to discuss a dead woman. However, at this moment she just could not bring herself to be calm. She felt inexplicably curious, and she wanted her curiosity satisfied.

'Who was Jane Austen, Tom?' she prompted again. 'A friend of yours?'

Finally sitting down, Tom did not look at Mary as he reached for the letter and caressed it in his hands for a while before answering, 'Yes. A friend.'

'When did you meet her?'

'When I was in England… a long time ago.' He sighed and forced a sad smile. 'It does not matter, _Mabs_.'

But Mabs, or Mary, had let her Pandora box open. She was now inquisitive and longed to know more. 'Her name sounds familiar. Do I know her?' Then, as if on cue, she cast a glance at Tom's bookshelf. Most of his books in the bookshelf were of law and religion. Only a small section was dedicated to novels. An old copy of _Tom Jones_ was there (so unlike the religious Tom Lefroy to keep such a secular novel and Mary always wondered why her husband possessed it), several poems, and three or four novels written by 'a Lady'; as of late known as a Miss Austen. Miss Jane Austen.

'She was a novelist,' Mary whispered, answering her own questions. 'Jane and you like her books so much.' _Jane_. Mary stopped, almost suffocated. _Jane_. Their daughter was named Jane, after her mother. But this novelist was also Jane. Mary tried to breath. 'When did you meet her for the first time?'

'Mary dear…' for the first time in several minutes, Tom spoke clearly. 'Why do you have to ask? My friend has died, I mourn her. Is it not proper behaviour for a Christian?'

'When did you first meet her, Thomas?' Mary had evidently ignored him. 'I want to know.'

'Why?'

'Pray, just answer it.'

'Mary…Mabs…' his blue eyes were begging now. Sadness and remorse were etched on his usually calm countenance. After a time, realising that his wife was not wavered, he sighed and answered with surprising steadiness. 'December 1795.'

December 1795. A quick calculation informed Mary that it had been more than twenty years since the meeting, but apparently her husband could not forget this Austen woman. Not even after her death. _December…Wait._

'When in December?' her voice was icily cold; Mary was taking the role of the judge now. Her instinct told her that the feelings her husband held for this women were more than simply respect and she would not let her husband avoid her questioning. Upon noticing that Tom did offer an immediate reply, she pressed further until she received an answer.

'Christmas holiday,' said Tom, diverting his eyes to the pale crescent moon outside, and consequently failing to observe Mary's face turn a pale white as she sat down, attempting to absorb the information.

'Christmas…' Mary whispered to herself several times. She then fell into silence before finally asking, 'Was that why you named our first daughter Jane Christmas?' Her voice was presented accusingly.

Tom turned to look at his wife. 'You know as well as I do, Mary, that we gave Jane her name to honour your mother and your ancestors.'

Mary showed no relent. 'Any other reasons I did not know? Such as homage to your friend, perhaps?' To her dismay, Tom did not reply immediately. Instead, he sighed and fingered his messy hair.

'Does it matter?' he finally spoke, as if to himself.

'Does it matter?!' Mary felt her heart burning. 'It matters for the whole world!'

'My friend has died, Mary. Can I not be spared a moment of mourning on her account?'

Mary could not believe this. 'Thomas…' she blinked and tried to resume, 'Am I to understand that you need a moment of peace for the memory of your dead…friend,' she emphasised the last word as if spitting a bitter seed, ' – while I am wondering the true nature of your friendship? And that I should leave you be?' She opened her mouth to continue, but found no voice. A strained moment passed. 'In all honesty, Thomas, do you not show me any respect?' Upon her husband's desperate sigh, Mary felt her heart sinking. 'Do you… not love me at all?'

'Of course I do!' the speed of Tom's reply surprised her and elated her mood a little. Yet, she was still hindered.

'But did your love for me prevent you from loving her?'

Tom made no reply; all his attentions were now focused on the old rug on his feet. Mary felt her heart resume its sinking.

'Tom…' She tried again. 'Did you love this woman?' She swallowed hard. 'Did you love Jane Austen?'

Tom tilted his head and, clenching his jaws, begged, 'Mary, this is not the right time. She has just died. I need time to meditate. To mourn.'

'And when will the time be right to receive an explanation?' Running out of patience, Mary suddenly snapped, 'Will you be providing me with the explanations that I should have received years ago any time soon? Or will you just continue, pretending that this conversation never existed, and resume with your court business, gardening and preaching of truth? While all this time have been lying to me?!'

'Mary…' Tom was so tired and wished to avoid fighting. 'Please, not now my dear…'

'Do not call me that, Thomas!' Mary leapt to her feet. 'Not now! Not while you're holding the letter from your lover's brother so dearly, and refusing to give me the answers that are within my rights to behold!' This time, Tom retreated into silence. Mary sighed and launched her last attempt.

'Do you love me, Tom?' she dreaded the answer.

Slowly, Tom faced his wife and nodded solemnly. 'You know I do, Mary.'

That did not please her. 'Do you love her?'

He did not answer. Mary felt her clogged throat almost exploding; her tears already welling. Fighting her heaving chest, she exclaimed with faltering voice,

'I shall have the maid send you dinner, Tom. I will skip dinner tonight. Do not send me the tray upstairs.'

With that, Mary Lefroy turned on her heels and left the library. Thomas Langlois Lefroy, King's Counsel for Ireland, sank back into his seat, exhausted, desperate and deprived of all spirit.

He then slowly raised his hands to cover his face and sobbed endlessly.

-TBC-

_Author's note:_

_Henry Austen did visit Ireland from March to October/November 1799. There was no record found of his meeting with Tom Lefroy i__n Ireland, but the possibility (what with their connections with Jane Austen) is not zilch. I am also assuming that Tom would receive news of Jane's sickness and death from Henry, instead of from other people such as Anna Lefroy (that was not his best acquaintance despite her support to Jane/Tom)._

_In the 1979 Huguenot Society Paper ('Jane Austen's Irish Friend'), J.A.P. __Lefroy suggested that 'Mabs' was Tom's nickname for Mary Paul, hence I used the name here._


	3. Brotherly Love

**If I Loved You Less…**

**A 'Becoming Jane' story, by Icha**

**Rating: K**

_Summary: Conversing with his nephew,__ the retired Chief Justice Lefroy reminiscing on his past with Jane Austen. Inspired by 'Becoming Jane' the movie. __Ch 3: Tom Lefroy recalled the faithful event that made him leave Jane Austen. __Many grateful thanks to Rachel Kingston for her great beta. Indeed, she still managed to give an excellent beta despite her busy schedule packing to Ireland! _

_Disclaimer: I do not own Jane Austen and her characters, or any other characters in this story. The story takes place in several time frames, e.g. 1795-1799, 1802, 1817, 1840, and 1867, based on several facts known about Jane Austen and Tom Lefroy. Should gentle readers like to know more of the facts, please visit Becoming Jane Fansite, particularly in the 'About Tom Lefroy' section. _

-xxx-

**Chapter 3. ****Brotherly Love**

_What If I was an angel?  
Sent from God above._

_To test man of,  
His brotherly love?_

_You will never know,  
If you never give true brotherly love_

_ Millette Addison_

_Leeson Street, Dublin, August 1817_

The soothing afternoon breeze lessened the intensity of the scorching summer sun of Dublin. Profusely sweating, Thomas Langlois Lefroy diligently turned the soil of his vegetable garden, eager to make sure that his pumpkins and carrots would grow better for the next autumn and that his potatoes would benefit a better air circulation. The summer rain of the previous night had helped his garden, and he was more than happy to work hard to gain the best benefits of the rain.

But he could not shut his eyes to the fact that today he did not work in the garden merely as a hobby he had always enjoyed. No, today he mostly worked because he needed to clear his mind from the raging anger and despair he had felt the last few days since the letter from Henry Austen had arrived. Mary's attitude towards him had been indifferent at best, and not even the Sunday church service they had attended together could make her exchange any more than forced civil words with him. Tom longed for their usual moments of smiles and laughter, but he understood that Mary was hurt and he could not blame her for that. And when his mind strayed to England; to Winchester where Jane Austen's body lay cold and alone in her grave, he was again attacked with a pang of regret he could only share with himself. What he would give to be able to talk about it with someone… but there was nobody but himself, and God. And God seldom gave the direct answers that he sought after. Hence his gardening today, for he needed the exercise to clear his mind and to bury his regrets deep under the earth.

Stretching his back after digging the soil, Tom caught a glance of his daughter Jane Christmas a few feet from him. He was glad that Jane was his only child who currently resided in Leeson Street with him and Mary, lest he would have to explain Mary's unusual behaviours to his other children. As for Jane, she had always developed an eerie sense of understanding with her father; she did not need him to tell her that something was wrong and that it was better for her not to know the details.

Tom remembered the fine day his eldest daughter was born; fifteen years ago in the lovely summer of 1802. She was their second child and first daughter, hence his and Mary's excitement. For a time, Tom had been contemplating the name for a daughter, including names like Sarah, Elizabeth or even Maria, a variation of Mary. But when his eyes locked gaze with his daughter's dark blue eyes, he knew that all those names would not suit her. And when his sight fell upon the baby's curly hair, soft and light-coloured as the falling snow, he realised that he did not want to name her anything other than what reminded him of the best Christmas he had shared with somebody so dear to him. Jane Austen, whom he had met during a Christmas holiday in 1795. 'Jane Christmas' was the first name that emerged from the revelation, and it struck him as the most beautiful name he had ever known and would ever hear. The fact that Mary's mother was also named 'Jane' gave him a relief, for he did not want to cheat his wife by giving their eldest daughter a name from his past. And as he learned that Mary's ancestors were related to the Christmas family, Tom knew that 'Jane Christmas' was the perfect name for their eldest daughter. He did not want to deceive Mary in the name. He wanted to pay tribute to both women in his life, Jane Austen and Mary Paul, and at that time, the idea seemed an excellent one. Until now, when his wife had learned of the second nature of the name and, obviously, was extremely upset by it.

Tom sighed and wiped the sweat beads from his forehead with his hand. He clenched his jaws and ploughed the soil several times. He never wanted his wife to be angry at him; but if she did, let it be only towards him. _Pray, God, spare my daughter Jane from this. Not my beloved Guardian Angel. It is not her fault to be named as such. The fault is entirely mine…_

Jane Christmas herself was currently picking scattered red apples from the ground under her favourite apple tree. She was cheerfully telling her father her plan to bake a delicious apple pie for their dinner (her father just made non-committal sounds) when she heard her mother calling her. Turning around, she saw her mother walking towards them in her afternoon dress. Jane admired her mother for her loving words, gentle smile and understanding. The only thing she did not share with Mary Paul Lefroy was the enjoyment of novel reading; that was Jane's bond with her father Tom Lefroy.

'Mother, look!' exclaimed Jane happily. 'I have so many apples; I will bake a delicious apple pie for you and Father for dinner!'

'Indeed. Will you do so for tonight, my dear?' Upon her daughter's confirmation, Mary resumed, 'Then, please leave for the kitchen dear for I need a moment alone with your father.' Upon Jane's inquiring gaze, Mary touched her daughter's pink cheek and fondly added, 'We will join you for the dinner with your apple pie.'

Jane had dreaded family meals for the last few days, for her mother scarcely said anything, and if she did, it was usually directed to her or their cook, instead of her father. Yet this afternoon Jane felt that her mother's mood was changing for the better. Nodding hopefully, Jane left her parents to commence the baking of the apples.

Mary watched her daughter until her light-coloured curls disappeared behind the kitchen door before she turned to her husband. Tom had stopped his activity for a while, tentatively diverting his attention from his potatoes to his wife. Upon his solemn nod, Mary said, 'It was good that it rained last night. Good for the vegetables.'

'Yes, indeed…' Tom diverted his gaze to study his shovel. 'I expect a good harvest of potatoes later this year. November, perhaps.'

Mary made non-committal sounds. 'November. Are you not going to England in November? Or is it October?'

Tom looked at her with sadness. 'I'm not sure, Mary. I know not whether it is wise.'

'Westminster Hall called you, Thomas. Am I to understand that you are not leaving?'

He shrugged. 'I suppose I have to.'

'Do you want to?' Mary's grey eyes gazed into Tom's bright blue eyes. 'Do you want to go, Tom?'

Tom had dreaded this moment for the last few days. Before the news of Jane Austen's death had reached him, Mary had been excited about his plans to go to England to visit the Parliament House. Yet now, he knew that it would take a miracle for his wife to give him leave. Suddenly loosing his appetite for gardening, he put down his shovel and sat on the ground, facing Jane's apple tree. It was a moment or two before he replied, 'What do you think, Mary?'

'Me?' Mary approached her husband and carefully sat down on the grass, a few steps from him. She fixed her smart petticoat carefully before settling down in comfort. 'I'd like to know what you would do in England, other than attending the parliamentary meetings, that is.'

Tom said nothing. Instead, he picked a piece of leaf and started to shred it. Mary arched her fine eyebrow before prompting once more.

'Will you go to see that Jane Austen? Her grave, I mean.'

Tom stopped shredding the poor leaf. He looked at his wife and slowly nodded. 'Yes, I will.' He prepared himself for another wrath from Mary, but received none. Instead, she straightened her legs, propped herself with two arms and admitted, 'I read one of her novels last night. Whilst you were asleep.' Upon Tom's inquiring gaze, she explained, 'The one about that silly Woodhouse girl. Charming and funny, though I may not understand why anyone would like the annoying Emma Woodhouse.'

Unexpectedly, Tom chuckled. 'Emma has her own charms. She is fallible, but she is a charming soul nonetheless.'

'The way Jane Austen was herself?' Mary tilted her head and was expecting to see Tom's surprised expression. He disappointed her, though, for he showed no signs of surprise. Tom Lefroy was ready for the interrogation.

'Yes. Not unlike Jane Austen herself.'

'Was she so amiable? Jane, I mean.'

'Mary…' Tom's plea did nothing to stop her. Finally, Tom sighed. 'Yes. Very amiable.'

'Did you love her?'

Tom had dropped the pretence that Mary would not ask the question again. He studied the grass beneath his feet for a moment before nodding. 'Yes,' his voice was steady. 'I did love her.'

Mary pursed her lips and steadied herself before resuming, 'Do you love her still?'

Tom picked another leaf to shred. 'I think so,' he said after a while. 'I have often thought of her recently, but not in the way I thought of her before.'

'How so?'

'More of a kindred spirit, I guess. But –' he tilted his head to observe his wife. ' – why did you ask, Mary? Does it not hurt you?'

She nodded slowly. 'It does. But I want to know why you loved her. I want to know of your other Jane whose death has devastated you so.'

'Mary…'

'Why did you leave her, Thomas? You had the choice to be with her, I presume. Why did you leave her and chose me instead?'

How could a husband answer such a question? Tom's blue eyes locked gaze with Mary's grey eyes, but he was also the first one who diverted his attention to the grass. How could he tell her that even though he had been engaged to her in 1797, his heart was still with the late Miss Austen? How could he tell her about the beautiful city of Bath, where he visited Jane and her family in late 1797, spending a few memorable weeks strolling the streets and gardens? And then when he was contemplating whether to cancel his engagement with Mary, he received the most unexpected news.

-xxx-

Born on January 8th, 1776, Tom Lefroy was the eldest son of Anthony Lefroy and Ann Gardner. Tom was actually the sixth child of the family, for he had four older sisters born before him. As was commonly practiced, the Lefroy's family hopes rested upon Tom and his younger brother Anthony who was born on October 19th, 1777. Alas, on November 5th, 1798, the young Anthony who was barely one and twenty years old had fallen in love and married a penniless Miss Elizabeth Wilkin, who, by the standards of great uncle Benjamin Langlois, was an undesirable woman. Consequently, Anthony was cut off from the Langlois financial support and forced to be financially independent. At that time, Tom and Anthony were the only young Lefroy men who regularly supported their family. With Anthony leaving, Tom was left alone. His second younger brother, Benjamin, was only 16 years of age, a mere teenager who could not be expected to earn money for the family.

It was a heartbreaking moment for Tom when he decided to sever his connection with Jane Austen wholly and permanently. He did try to detach himself from her in 1796 but to no avail, for he could not deny that the attraction he had shared with Jane had been anything less than true love. Despite his admiration and friendship towards Mary Paul, Tom could not ignore the reality that his engagement to Mary was an attempt to please his uncle and family. Tom realised that he still could not forget Jane completely. After another meeting with Jane Austen in Bath in November 1797 and a further Christmas holiday in her company, Tom was so close to cancelling his engagement with Mary. Not even the close proximity of him and Mary (who in mid 1798 was already in North Wales, escaping the Irish Rebellion) could deter his plan to return to Jane. Yet, his plan was aborted forever when his brother Anthony eloped.

Tom still remembered the momentous day when Anthony, a young Captain of the 65th Regiment at that time, met him secretly in a shabby London tavern on a cold night on the first day of November 1798, one year after Tom's meeting with Jane in Bath. Despite the hazy smoke and the noisy atmosphere of the tavern (Tom would much prefer a library or a park), he could see plain love etched on the countenance of his young brother; he knew that Anthony's feeling towards Elizabeth were pure. After overcoming his shock to hear Anthony's rather sudden news, he tried to reason.

'Can you not at least wait, Brother? You know the nature of our great uncle. Uncle Benjamin will not let you be with her!'

'I know that!' said the stubborn Anthony, dashing as ever in his red regiment uniform. 'That's why we will elope; away from the madness and away from the pretence….. away from this wretched, snobbish society!' Anthony's eyes, also blue like Tom's, sparkled with excitement. 'He cannot refuse her once we are married, can he?'

_Try_, Tom said bitterly to himself. He had once tried to introduce his great uncle to the idea of his closeness to a Miss Jane Austen. Indeed, he had even taken the liberty to arrange a meeting between Jane and his uncle in London two years ago; a meeting that was not productive and resulted in him secretly resuming his relationship with Jane. And in Easter 1797, to fulfil his family's desire, he concurrently also engaged himself with the sweet Mary Paul of Wexford. What did those actions make him? _A bastard_, said Tom to himself as he took a gulp of beer. _A nasty bastard._

Tom loosened his cravat before shaking his head. 'Anthony, please think about it. What will happen to Father, Mother and our sisters if you run away without a penny? Our family income will suffer greatly!'

'Oh, but we have you, Brother!' Gulping his own beer, Anthony tapped Tom's shoulder. 'You will marry that rich Wexford lass; you will be able to provide us with all the bread that we need!'

'I am not –' Tom clenched his jaws before he resumed. 'Anthony, I am contemplating the idea of cancelling the engagement.'

'What?!' The news struck Anthony like a bolt; he almost gagged on his own beer. In the Lefroy family, Thomas was always the diligent and silent boy; such a contrast to Anthony's mischievous actions (hence, the elder boy chose law school and the younger one chose the army). Yet Anthony loved his brother so much, the way his brother loved him. In other circumstances, Anthony would give a toast for Tom's change of heart. However, now Anthony Lefroy only went agape for a while before stuttering, 'But…but you told me –'

'That was ages ago, Anthony. I'm changing my mind.'

Anthony sat down slowly. He did not expect this turn of events for the world. 'Is it still the Hampshire lass?' Anthony knew that Tom once or twice talked of a Hampshire girl, a friend of Aunt Anne of Ashe, but he never knew that his brother's feeling was sincere. 'You… love her?' Upon Tom's slow but certain nod, Anthony frowned. 'What will you say to Father? To Uncle?'

'I don't know. I am hoping that you will help me,' Tom took another gulp of beer. 'By not running away with your lover.' His tone was apparently harsh enough, for Anthony suddenly snapped.

'Hey! Don't speak like that about her! I love Lizzy!'

Realising his mistake, Tom mumbled his apology. Anthony sighed and looked at his brother intently. 'I love my Lizzy, Tom. As you love your Hampshire girl.'

'Jane. That's her name.'

'Yes, Jane.' He tapped his fingers on the table. 'You told me she was pretty?'

Tom cast an affirmative smile; his eyes gazed at the ceiling, his mind wandered into the past. 'And very well-versed in dancing… and has the most beautiful soprano voice…and –' he chuckled unexpectedly, '– loves to shop.'

Tom closed his eyes, and in an instant his mind witnessed flashes of the most beautiful scenes of his life: he and Jane dancing together in Manydown Park and Basingstoke Assembly. He had seated himself to listen to Jane playing and singing _Robin Adair_, songs from Handel's oratorio _Susanna_, and _How gentle was my Damon's air_. His memory also skilfully played out the scenes where he and Jane had strolled the lanes and streets of Bath; stopping at one shop in Milsom Street to admire a bonnet, entering a patisserie full of delicious sweet breads and then resting under a thick mulberry tree.

Loud laughter from a group of men at the neighbouring table brought him back to the present. The men were not laughing at him, they were merely laughing at a dirty joke they had shared among them. Tom breathed heavily as he leaned forward on the table, fingering his messy hair in confusion. 'I love her, Anthony. I just realised I cannot live without her.'

Anthony's heart sank. 'Then…what are we to do?'

Tom looked up and drilled into Anthony's eyes. 'Listen, Anthony. Cancel your elopement. Let's face this together. We can talk it over with Uncle Benjamin if we both try.'

To his dismay, Anthony slowly shook his head. 'I cannot, Brother. Lizzy is waiting for me as we speak. I cannot abandon her.'

'You will be cut off!'

'I care not! Besides, I have you to defend me.'

'And who will defend me when I leave Mary for Jane?' Tom's bright blue eyes beseeched hopelessly and his heart sank as he realised that Anthony would not change his mind.

Anthony blinked as his shoulders slumped. 'Brother… I am sorry…' He reached for some coins in his pocket and rose as he placed the coins on the table. 'I have to go. Our elopement is this very night, and must collect Lizzy in less than thirty minutes.'

'I cannot defend you, Anthony, not like this.'

Putting on his hat carelessly, Anthony shook his head. 'You're a lawyer and my brother, Tom. If not you, who else will defend me?'

Tom tried his last, moot, attempt. 'What about Jane and I?'

Anthony blinked and leaned towards his brother. 'Take my advice, Brother. Run away with her, as Lizzy and I will do. That's the only way.' And, detecting that Tom, being the responsible eldest son, would take out the 'family' trump, Anthony shook his head. 'Our family will have to do fine without us, Tom. We have given them most of our allowance anyway. Not to be inconsiderate here, but I suppose it's time for us to think of ourselves.' He hugged his brother for the last time. 'Uncle Ben loves you, Tom. He will listen to you. Good luck to you and Jane.'

And then, just like a cheerful wind, he left. A week later, Anthony Lefroy would learn that not even his brother's brilliant plea could reduce Benjamin Langlois' anger. Judge Langlois was so furious that he immediately cut off the financial support for Anthony and his wife and stopped regarding him as family.

Anthony was ready for this consequence, but his family was not. His parents wrote to Tom Lefroy, specifically asking him not to follow Anthony's mischievous steps and to continue his plan to marry the Wexford Mary Paul. And thus, with the utmost heavy heart, Tom resumed his engagement with Mary and left Jane alone in Hampshire. He did write to Jane, explaining that he could not visit her in Hampshire anymore, for he was to return home to Ireland, 'in service of my family'. When Jane asked for more details, listlessly he admitted that he had the duty to save his family 'upon my brother's marriage to a Miss Wilkin that left them without my venerable great-uncle's support'. He could not bring himself to explain about his engagement to Mary, but he preferred Jane to hear _**his**_ story than to listen to the thriving Ashe gossips. After all, nobody but Jane and he (and now Anthony) were aware of the status of their relationship.

Jane's response was expectedly bitter. She did not say bad things about him directly, but she used prickly words that would make Tom feel ashamed of his actions for years to come. What he did not know immediately was that slowly Jane came to understand Tom's impossible situation and that she often paid Tom silent homage in her novels. Not until Tom started to read Jane's novels (prompted by his daughter Jane's fondness of novel reading) did he learn of Jane's forgiveness. _Emma_, her last novel before her death, proved that Jane Austen had forgiven Tom, for Tom could see himself in Frank Churchill and the Irishman Mr. Dixon; both were portrayed in a much lighter sense compared to… say, John Willoughby in her first novel _Sense & Sensibility_ (to his relief, he also caught a similarity of himself to Edward Ferrars there).

In short, surrounded by four of Jane Austen's published novels and a daughter who was so fond of reading the novels, it was hard for Tom not to think of Jane Austen frequently. However, he succeeded in becoming a good husband and a good father. At least until now; now his wife had knowledge that he still cared for Jane Austen more than he should.

-TBC-

_Author's note:_

_As I stated in chapter 1, the info of Anthony Lefroy was already there all this time in Deirdre Le Faye's 'Jane Austen's Letters'. It was a great decision I made to buy the book (I usually used my library's Chapman) so that I learned the importance of Anthony in Tom's life… and love by the time I wanted to write this fan-fiction. And hence, I am pleased to write this chapter, a tribute to the brotherly love between Thomas Langlois Lefroy and the lesser known Anthony Lefroy. And Anthony was indeed a member of the 65__th__ Regiment before marrying Elizabeth Wilkin. Anyone in red uniform is cute; just look at Joe Anderson's Henry Austen! Oh, and I am not sure if Anthony eloped or married properly... the elopement is my assumption.  
_

_I also looked up the Vegetable Season of Foody UK & Ireland site for reference on proper vegetables to grow in August. I hope the list does not vary much with the ones in the 19__th__ century._

_And Elwen of Lorien spotted it perfectly that I mis-wrote Tom's year of birth. It should be 1776 instead of 1796 (smiling sheepishly). Thanks a lot, Elwen! _


	4. Love and Understanding

**If I Loved You Less…**

**A 'Becoming Jane' story, by Icha**

**Rating: K**

_Summary:__Conversing with his nephew, Chief Justice Lefroy reminiscing on his past with Jane Austen. Chapter 4: Would Mary forgive Tom for what he did in the past? Special thanks to Rachel Kingston for her excellent beta, and my humble apologies for the late update. Life has been extra busy than usual!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Jane Austen and her characters, or any other characters in this story. The story takes place in several time frames, i.e. 1795-1799, 1802, 1817, 1840, and 1867, based on several facts known about Jane Austen and Tom Lefroy. Should gentle readers would like to know more of the facts, please visit Becoming Jane Fansite, particularly in the 'About Tom Lefroy' section. This story is inspired by Becoming Jane the movie._

-xxx-

**Chapter 4. Love and Understanding**

_Leeson Street, Dublin, August 1817_

The scorching sun had reduced its intensity for the afternoon, and the soft summer breeze was soothing the inhabitants of Dublin on this hot summer day. Tom Lefroy still sat on the grass, subconsciously switching between picking grasses and shredding leaves. His wife Mary sat down rigidly beside him, her gaze wandering across the pink grey clouds coming from the north. She had just listened to his story about Anthony and his elopement, and what it cost to Tom's plans.

'It will rain again,' she spoke out of the blue. As her husband gave his consent, she resumed, 'Your potatoes will be happy.'

Tom smiled. 'I hope they will. The grey clouds will bring hard rain.'

'Did she like gardening like you?' Unexpectedly, Mary prompted again.

'Jane Austen?' Tom had accepted that Mary would not finish talking about Jane Austen. Not today, at least. Upon Mary's affirmative nod, he shrugged. 'Tolerably, but she'd rather read books and write. Or needlework.'

'How did you first meet?' Mary's voice was now truly a curious one, without the accused tone she used to cast when talking of Jane Austen.

Tom wiped his face with his dirty hands. 'You truly want to know, Mary?'

Mary nodded. 'Not during my first days after I learned of her existence… and death. But now, I do. Especially now, after learning of Anthony's circumstances. Miss Austen has died anyway, Tom, the truth will make no difference for you and her. But –' she leaned toward her husband, '– it will make a lot of differences to us Thomas, if we are to resume the marriage without pretence.'

There was a long pause before Tom Lefroy spoke again. 'Mary, what I am about to tell you will not be pleasing. But let me say this again, despite you not believing in me, I love you Mary, I sincerely love you. The love may not have existed when we first became engaged, but it grew and now you are an integral part of my life.'

'As is Jane Austen, despite her death.' Mary's voice was surprisingly calm.

Slowly, Tom admitted. 'Yes, as is Jane.'

He then began to tell a beautiful story and Mary felt as if her husband was not the subject of the story; that she was merely listening to her husband reading an unpublished manuscript of a love story with characters she knew only in names. Tom told her of Christmas parties and dances when a young Tom Lefroy; shy and timid but brilliant, met a sharp-tongued Jane Austen; clever, witty, charming and lively, and how soon the two characters were in love. But their families, as is familiar in many similar love stories, were disapproving. Tom's family was poor; his rich great-uncle demanded that he married well, and the poor Hampshire lass was definitely not deemed an appropriate match for the young Thomas Langlois Lefroy.

The story continued with the introduction of a young Wexford lady; herself, who despite being engaged to the dashing Tom Lefroy in 1797, felt somewhat uncomfortable. She knew something was amiss, for Tom did not immediately propose the wedding date. She knew that he must complete his study in London, but there was something else. This something else clouded his mind every time he told her stories of dear England. Mary never knew what happened, for the young Tom Lefroy returned again to Ireland at the end of 1798, determined to marry her this time. She was relieved for this change of heart, though she did not know whom or what to thank.

Until now. Until her husband told her things that she needed to know, including the fate of Anthony Lefroy; a fact she already knew but never took into account. Mary did not want to know every detail; she just needed enough information to allow her a better stance on the issue. She deliberated whether to resume her marriage with Tom in an earnest way, pretending that everything was well. She had also contemplated the option of leaving him, but on the basis of infidelity? Tom Lefroy never did anything wrong. He pledged that he had never written to Jane Austen since he married Mary, and Mary also knew that Jane Austen had never written a single word to her husband. Tom retained his precious story safe in his heart… the way Jane did. It was more difficult for him as Jane had her novels to effuse her feelings, albeit secretly; Tom had no outlets whatsoever. He was practically alone, even when he was with his family.

Listening to Tom's story as a third person, Mary inexplicably felt compassionate towards her husband and the late Jane Austen. It was not their fault that they fell in love; they were young and lively and both shared similar interests with each other. It was not Jane's fault to long for Tom, nor Tom's fault that he secretly maintained his relationship with Jane despite his family's disapproval. But on the matter of resuming the engagement with herself…

'You should have told me about Jane before we resumed our engagement, Tom. The entire story would be different.'

Tom shook his head. 'I've been thinking about it Mary but the truth is that either way I would have hurt one of you. I did not want that.'

'If it was not for Anthony's elopement, you would not have left Jane,' Mary spoke bluntly.

'Perhaps,' Tom admitted. 'You would have hated me then.'

'Perhaps, or perhaps not,' Mary unexpectedly replied. 'I was not without admirers, Mr. Lefroy. Somebody would inevitably have been attracted to me.'

Contemplating Mary's lovely countenance and sincere heart, Tom could not help to agree. Had he cancelled his engagement and married Jane Austen instead, Mary would not have been abandoned. Tom felt the familiar pang of guilt attack him as he whispered yet another apology. 'I am sorry, Mary. I am truly sorry that I hurt you and Jane. I wish I could undo what I did… but I cannot. I am terribly… terribly sorry…'

Mary shrugged. Man and wife remained silent for a considerable period of time before Mary asked, 'What are we going to do Tom, now that I am aware of your love towards a deceased woman? I am aware that you never cheated on me; well not directly, at least.'

Tom shook his head ruefully. 'I know not, Mary. If you want me to leave, I will leave. So that you know, I never wanted to leave you. Please believe me, if I had wanted to leave, I could have done so when Jane was still alive. You are a good woman, Mary, and I fell in love with you. I mean it, despite you not believing me.'

Mary wanted to believe that her husband loved her the way a husband should love his wife. All Tom's letters to her had described his longing to be with her and their family, where his security and peace rested; all but one.

Slowly, Mary Paul excavated an old letter from her pocket. A very old letter from the year 1810, addressed to 'Mrs. Mary Lefroy', written by her husband who had currently been on duty in the town of Mountrath, about midway from Limerick to Dublin. As usual, the letter was full of Tom's praise for the Holy Scripture and his evident care for her and their family. Yet, there was something rather odd about the letter, something that made Mary ponder upon it for a few days until his safe return home. Mary Lefroy had the habit of keeping their correspondence in a neat stack inside the night stand. Whenever Tom was away, she usually read his old letters and felt assured and grateful for their love. Yet, inexplicably, whenever she was drawn towards that 1810 letter, she always felt a pang of doubt of Tom's love for her.

'Thomas –' she said mysteriously as her fingers played with the letter, '– do you remember when you wrote a letter to me from Mountrath, seven years ago?'

Tom tilted his head in wonder. As he was in constant correspondence with Mary and their family, a year was long enough for him to forget what he had written to his wife, let alone seven years. He shrugged. 'I would not remember. What of it?' His eyes fell upon the yellowish pages Mary held tentatively. 'Are you referring to that letter?'

In reply, Mary handed Tom the letter, silently gesturing with her chin so that Tom would read the letter. And that was what he did; reading his own words he had written to his wife seven years ago.

'_1810, Mountrath_

_I put a few lines into the Maryboro's post about 4 o'clock, but lest by any __accident you should not get them I send this letter to Mr. Bourne, the coach proprietor, with a request that he may forward it to you, as no post goes into town on Sunday.'_

Tom arched his thick eyebrows. Just a glance at the date of the letter had brought him back to that very night in Mountrath, when out of the blue he remembered a cold night circa Christmas where he and the young Miss Austen danced together in Hampshire. He could remember clearly how he had felt uncomfortable with his past memories. Writing to his wife had been the appropriate course of action to expel his youthful memories from emerging.

Tom stopped for a while. Then, after glancing at Mary (who was tentatively watching the birds flying), he read a few lines of usual news and the benefit of reading the Scriptures. Then, silently he proceeded by reading a long paragraph adorned with his neat handwriting:

'_... There is another great good which results from applying even the shreds and patches of time in this way. It serves to allay somewhat the high relish and excitement which this world and all its pursuits and objects are hourly forcing on the imagination and the heart; it keeps in our view a glimpse, at least, of the true in opposition to the glare of the false treasure which we are for ever pursuing, and between the legitimate and excessive pursuit of which the bounds are so treacherous. I include under the head of false treasure every object of earthly attachment however innocent or even praiseworthy, on which a value is set beyond what any earthly object is entitled to, and yet this is a point upon which we are all most sadly and practically going astray every hour of our lives, and on which nothing can set us right but keeping before us, as if in a magnifying glass, the great and paramount claims to a Christian's regard. I do not say that we are to extinguish the affections which belong to the different relations of life; on the contrary, by the pure and sincere exercise of them, selfishness is in some degree extinguished, but the gratification arising from the most delightful of these affections should not form the stay, and hope, and prop of life. No; therein consists the excess, and the abuse; but I'll say no more on this head, lest you should tell me that nothing but my vanity could suggest the necessity of sermonizing with you in this manner. I own, however, it is grounded on a conviction that the sensibility and devotedness of my darling wife's attachment to a certain degree impair her own enjoyment. But, remember, I am not willing to part with the least atom of it to any earthly object; whatever of it ought to be pruned away, let it be transplanted to that region where we may hope and trust to enjoy it in bliss unfading. _

_T.L.'_

Man and wife fell silent again as the husband folded the letter and returned it solemnly to his wife. Tom tried to evade Mary's drilling gaze, but he knew that he was doing it in vain. Eventually, he locked gaze with his wife. 'Mabs…'

'It was a strange letter, Tom. I could never understand the real meaning of it… and I had always been too scared to ask about it. Until now.' Mary Lefroy tucked a lock of her hair and diverted her gaze upon the setting sun before she said, 'It was about Jane, was it not?'

Tom's silence was an affirmation to Mary Lefroy. She sighed. She was well aware of her husband's pious nature, but something about his reiteration of _'false treasure'_ that included _'every object of earthly attachment however innocent or even praiseworthy, on which a value is set beyond what any earthly object is entitled to'_ as something rather vague. As a loyal reader of the Scripture, Mary of course knew some of the false treasures that had the power to lure human's heart into making wrong decisions and actions. Money and power were two of them. The question that was playing on her mind was what if Tom had been talking about another thing altogether? Namely, love and attachment, to the past?

Placing the 1810 letter into the story of her husband and Jane Austen, Mary now gained a new understanding of the context of the letter. That night in 1810, after sending her the first letter with the Marlboro post, Tom suddenly remembered his old days with Jane Austen. Feeling naturally guilty for reminiscing the past, Tom chose to remind himself of his reasons for choosing to marry Mary and of the love he felt for his wife. Now Mary realised how Tom had been so desperate that night, trying to convince himself that through choosing Mary Paul, he would live a happy life with her. He also secretly acknowledged that he still harboured a somewhat chaste feeling towards Miss Austen, and only by keeping those feelings as pure as possible, would he be able to refrain from being tortured by guilt.

'You have tried to tell me all along, Thomas, how you felt about her, and how you still wanted to keep your love for me and to preserve our marriage.' Mary returned to observe Tom's expression. He was poignant, but calm. As she did, he realised the inevitable. 'You could have told me directly, Tom. That would save me some trouble in guessing, wondering… and doubting.'

A soft summer breeze passed by, shredding down some apple leaves. Thomas Langlois Lefroy observed the falling leaves with immense interest.

'Will you believe me then, Mary?' his blue eyes were locked on the leaves, now lying silently on the ground. 'Jane Austen was still alive then. I would not have been able to convince you of my sincere attention towards you and our family with my blatant conviction that I could not wipe her away from my heart. Not entirely, at least.'

'And now, now that Miss Austen is dead; would I be able to handle this better?'

'Perhaps… with less repercussion.' Tom wiped his hands with a dirty cloth before returning his attention to his wife. 'I have said all that I should say, Mabs. I have admitted to you the remnants of my feelings to Miss Austen. Chaste and pure as it might be, it still hurts you. I have demonstrated to you, all this time, my sincere love and attention for you and our children. You can contact Henry Austen if you wish… and you will find that he, too, will be the witness that I never contacted Jane directly after we were married. You can also talk to Anthony, my brother, to verify the information I just gave you. But other than that, I have nothing else that I can do…' he bit his lips in hesitance, '– to convince you that my love for you is sincere.'

Slowly, Thomas Langlois Lefroy got up and collected his gardening tool. 'Whatever your decision is, Mary, I respect it and you. I just beg you to leave our daughter Jane out of this; her name is not a fault of hers. I was, after all, following tradition by naming our first daughter after your mother.'

'It is somewhat of a coincidence.'

'Yes, it is a coincidence.' Suddenly, Tom fell on his knees and begged, 'Please leave our Jane out of this matter. Please, Mabs… I beg you. You can blame me as you wish; you are fully entitled to. But not our Jane Christmas. Not her.' His blue eyes beseeched solemnly as he searched for signs of anger or, worse, hatred in Mary's grey eyes. Yet, to his surprise, he found none.

'I am very much surprised, Mr. Lefroy, that you know so little of me.'

He blinked. 'What do you mean?'

'We have been man and wife for twelve years, have we not? If you can contemplate me hating our own daughter, I sadly have to admit that you know me very little.'

'I…' Thomas Lefroy stuttered to find words.

'I love our Jane Christmas, Thomas and nothing, I repeat, nothing will lessen my love for her….Not even the knowledge of Jane Austen.' To both their surprise, Mary reached to touch Tom's cheek tenderly. 'Jane Austen was Jane Austen, Thomas. Jane Christmas is not Jane Austen. Jane Christmas is the eldest daughter of Thomas Langlois Lefroy and Mary Lefroy She is a fine, independent young woman and I will always love her, no matter what.'

Utterly surprised, Tom was speechless for a moment or two. Then, suddenly, he blinked and let silent tears out. 'You… you are such an angel Mary…Thank you, thank you.' When Mary said nothing, he cleared his throat and gathered himself to ask, 'Do you forgive me? I… you have my full consent to decide what is best for you and our marriage, but at least, do forgive me?'

Mary arched her fine eyebrow. 'What do you mean, Thomas? Do you honestly think that I will ask for a divorce because of this?'

Tom shrugged lamely. 'Is it not a strong case for a divorce?'

'Could be… if you had done much more than thinking of Miss Austen as a kindred spirit,' Mary admitted. 'But the fact is, you have not. And now Miss Austen has passed away… and the two of us are left alone with two choices: acknowledging your past with Miss Austen and let it go… or go our separate ways.'

Tom became speechless again as his wife knelt on her knees and took his hands. 'I do not think the second option as viable, Mr. Lefroy,' Mary spoke calmly. 'Therefore, I think we should vigorously attempt option number one.'

'Mary…' he blinked some tears out once more.

'Take me to England next month, Tom, when you leave for Westminster Hall. Afterwards, I may accompany you to Winchester, although for better or worse, I think it is better that you go there alone.'

'Mary…' Tom Lefroy sobbed and reached for his wife, enveloping her with a sense of deep gratitude.

'I love you, Thomas Langlois Lefroy. And I know you love me as well. For now, that is all that matters.'

Tom knew that he should kiss his wife for her understanding and compassion. However, at that very moment he could not find it within himself to act; he did not see Mary as his wife then, he saw her as his saviour. She had bestowed him with love and understanding despite his hurtful actions. For that, a kiss was not appropriate. For that, a solemn embrace of gratitude felt right.

-TBC-

_Author's note:_

_Letter 1810 was taken from page 28 of the 'Memoir of Chief Justice Lefroy'._


	5. The Letter

**If I Loved You Less…**

**A 'Becoming Jane' story, by Icha**

**Rating: K**

_Summary: Conversing with his nephew, Chief Justice Lefroy reminiscing on his past with Jane Austen.__ Special thanks to Rachel Kingston for her great beta, despite her heavy schedules. Chapter 5: the last chapter where The Chief told his nephew the history of Cadell letter and the 'boyish love'._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Jane Austen and her characters, or any other characters in this story. The story takes place in several time frames, i.e. 1795-1798, 1817, 1840, and 1867, based on several facts known about Jane Austen and Tom Lefroy. Should gentle readers would like to know more of the facts, please visit Becoming Jane Fansite in the 'About Tom Lefroy' section. _

-xxx-

**Chapter 5****. The Letter**

The grand clock in the hall had not struck ten when Thomas Edward Preston Lefroy realised that he should conclude his conversation with Uncle Thomas Langlois Lefroy as soon as possible. His uncle's age could not accommodate too late a tête-à-tête, yet he could not bring himself to wrap up the discussion. After listening to the grand clock terminating its tenth strike, Thomas cleared his throat and spoke,

'I have always known that you have a sad, gloomy story kept close to your heart my dear Uncle, but never had I considered the extent.' Upon his uncle's silence, he resumed. 'To learn that my very own father was the person responsible for the doom of your youthful love…' he shook his head. 'I am terribly sorry for that.'

The old Tom Lefroy did not reply for a while. 'Why do you have to feel sorry, child?' he slowly whispered.

'Why?' Thomas blinked. 'Why, my venerable Uncle, had it not for my father's elopement with my mother… you would have married Miss Austen! And the world would not have lost a great authoress at such a youthful age; for there is no doubt that she would have lived a happier life with you than being alone.'

'Would she?' the former Chief Justice of Ireland still whispered. 'I would not know, Thomas. I do not think the Great Uncle Langlois would approve our union. I would be Anthony then, and it would be Anthony who had to leave Lizzy to marry a richer lass. It would be Anthony who would support me and my family.'

'You say this as if you married Aunt Mary for her wealth.'

The old Tom Lefroy shook his head. 'I regret such an impression. It was not what I meant. Of course, her wealth tremendously helped our family but I eventually realised that I loved her when I learned her true golden heart.' Former Chief Lefroy pinched the bridge of his old nose as he continued. 'But let's assume that I could have married Jane without objections from the Langlois. I might have been able to feed Jane and our family… our hypothetical family. But what if I could not sustain them? Jane would not have had time for writing for she would have had to sustain our family as well. And if I managed to bring myself into a successful career, she and I would have lived a happy and wealthy life. But I do not think that her novels would have been the same. No. Her works would not be the same.'

'_Might_ not be the same,' agreed Thomas. 'In the first scenario, the world might have lost the opportunity to have a Jane Austen as the famous authoress, for she would have been too busy to take care of her family. In the second scenario, we might have had the authoress Jane Austen, but her books would not have been the same.' He added an afterthought, 'Her works would not be the same, but it does not mean that they would be less valuable.'

The former Chief Justice of Ireland smiled ruefully. 'Both scenarios are hypothetical, my dear Child. We would never know the exact results of each possibility, for I chose a different path. I chose Mary Paul… and abandoned Jane Austen in her own poverty … her own suffering. To save my family, I had to hurt the love of my life.'

'As I said before… had my father not –'

'The 'what if' scenario does not work here, Thomas. As a judge you know that we should base our judgements on facts and reality, and based on what your father and I faced then, my decision was the appropriate one.' The ninety year old man looked at his dearest nephew, at his concerned countenance, and added hastily, 'It was not your father's fault, Thomas. It was the will of God. I was merely playing my part… consciously, despite my aching heart.'

'Did you ever find solace?' the young Thomas tentatively posed after a while.

'Did I?' the wrinkled lips formed a peaceful smile. 'Of course I did. Jane Austen was a very special woman, Thomas. But so was your aunt Mary. And your cousin Jane. I think they never realised that they were, are, my three guardian angels.'

'Akin to Lord Jesus and His three female followers.'

The pious Tom Lefroy widened his smile. 'Yes similar. Although I dare not draw similarities between our Lord Jesus and my sinful self.'

'You are not sinful.'

'Oh, but sometimes I was. At times I made mistakes; sometimes I did not keep my promises. Speaking of promises, dear Thomas… you might want to return to your first topic of conversation tonight; a letter from Cadell & Davies in which you obtained for me years ago.'

'More than twenty five years ago, Uncle. The year 1840, if I may refresh your memory.'

'Was it that long? Dear me…' his uncle gestured towards his writing desk. 'Bottom shelf, Thomas, a green book. Will you pass it to me?'

The nephew did as he was asked and produced a muted green book from the shelf. It was an old note book belonging to Thomas Langlois Lefroy. His nephew handed it to its owner, who soon caressed this old book as he opened the cover and retrieved a yellowish piece of paper tucked between its pages. 'Letter of Cadell & Davies. The very evidence of their stupidity, if I may say so, for rejecting the first manuscript of _'First Impression'_, later known as _'Pride & Prejudice'_, written by Jane Austen.'

'That firm truly rejected the early version of 'Pride & Prejudice'?' Thomas could not believe his ears. 'I mean, after all these years, I still could not comprehend their –'

'Evidence of human's foolishness, Thomas. As an experienced judge, you should not doubt it.' The former Chief Justice smiled as he opened the yellowish paper. 'Care to read it to me, dearest nephew?' He handed the letter to his nephew who cleared his throat and began reading the letter:

'_Sir, - I have in my possession a manuscript novel, comprising 3 vols., about the length of Miss Burney's "Evelina". As I am well aware of what consequence it is that a work of this sort sh__d__ make its first appearance under a respectable name, I apply to you. I shall be much obliged therefore if you will inform me whether you choose to be concerned in it, what will be the expense of publishing it at the author's risk, and what you will venture to advance for the property of it, if on perusal it is approved of. Should you give any encouragement, I will send you the work. _

_I am, Sir, your humble Servant,_

_GEORGE AUSTEN_

_Steventon, near Overton, Hants._

_1__st__ November, 1797'_

Finishing the letter, Thomas looked up to see his uncle smiling wistfully. 'A proof of human folly indeed, Sir,' he commented, as he returned the letter to its current owner. 'I have heard of this letter from the Austen's, of course, notably Jemima's mother, but I still could not dare to believe that they truly rejected the very early version of _Pride and Prejudice_!'

His uncle chuckled. 'They did harbour some _prejudice_, did they not?' His eyes glittered with healthy humour. 'I will tell you a secret, my dear nephew. The letter is indeed a good way of restoring my humour from time to time; to know that Jane shone as a great authoress, despite these imbeciles attempting to let her down…' he shook his head, hands caressing the letter. 'I am very much amazed at the amount of energy stored in that lady. She was truly an outstanding creature.'

'But how, dearest Uncle, did you ever find out about the existence of this letter? Did Mr. Austen tell you about it?'

Thomas Langlois Lefroy did not drop his smile as his mind wandered to the past. Only after a while did he speak again, and his voice was full of rich, unforgotten memories. 'Bath, 1797, my dear boy. We did meet again in November 1797. Miss Austen, Jane, was rather in a foul mood at that time. I initially thought that it was because she was uncertain of my feelings for her. But after I pledged my love for her yet I still detected a hint of annoyance, I made some more inquiries. Only then did I find out that Mr. Austen had just received a reply from Cadell & Davies, indicating their disinterest to even look at the manuscript, let alone publish it. Jane and I discussed the follies of mankind at some length. Eventually, she came to term with this perceived 'failure'. Her inner sunlight had restored and we shared a very nice holiday in Bath. In 1840, when I heard of Cadell's sale, I immediately contacted you asking you to retrieve the letter for me, for I was certain that Cadell would still store the letter within their archives. I was not mistaken.'

Thomas shared his uncle's memories with a smile, until he remembered another memory. 'Bath… 1797. At least you two had a year of good acquaintance before my father…' he dropped his smile and sighed.

'Do not regret the past, Thomas.' Wisely the old Tom Lefroy intercepted his nephew's doubts by continuing, '…surely you know that your father and I have mended the bridges between us since then. Have my stories about Mary and Anthony told you nothing?'

Young Thomas' smile returned slowly. 'So, am I to understand that you deeply loved Jane Austen, Uncle?' Leaning over the bookshelf, Thomas added, 'I am no judge, here, I actually admire your feelings towards Miss Austen and your responsibility and commitment towards your family.'

His uncle, who was now gazing intently at Mr. Austen's letter, did not answer for a while. The humour that had lingered during the Cadell conversation evaporated now. A moment later, he tilted his head and replied reluctantly, 'It was a… how shall I express it Thomas? A boyish love. I was young and full of dreams then, I did not realise what would await me.' The old Tom Lefroy immediately returned his attention towards the Cadell letter. No one spoke for a while until Thomas straightened his posture and responded,

'Boyish love? My dearest Uncle, I beg to differ.' Thomas gazed at the letter his uncle held dear. 'Based on what you have told me tonight, forgive me for not believing that your love towards Miss Austen was a boyish love. In fact –' he leaned over to his uncle, who raised his head and awaited his next sentence with anticipation, not unlike the way a judge waited for the barrister to speak. His uncle knew what he wanted to say, and Thomas did not disappoint him. He resumed, '– you loved her so much, did you not, Uncle? After all these years, you still feel very fondly for her.'

His uncle did not reply immediately. Instead, after time he said, 'I assume you read _Emma_?'

'Miss Austen's _Emma_?' Thomas replied. Upon his uncle's nod, he continued 'Yes, that is actually Jemima's favourite. What of it?'

'Emma's friend and lover, Mr. Knightley, once said something like, '_If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more_.' His nephew confirmed his understanding with a knowing glance. Slowly, Thomas Langlois Lefroy restored his smile, 'I think the notion that Jane Austen understood human nature was not overrated in the slightest.'

Thomas agreed. After a pause, he added, 'She understood you well.'

Tom Lefroy's smile dwindled again as he turned to face his nephew.

'Am I such a bad person, Thomas, for remembering Jane Austen this much, even after all of these years? After her death…even after Mary's death?'

Thomas stared into his uncle's eyes; they used to be bright blue. Thomas remembered looking into those eyes with awe as the older man shared stories with him of the Scriptures or discussed the law. Now, in his older age, Tom Lefroy's eyes had transformed into a greyish tint, losing their previous bright flare. Yet, his spirit and love remained, radiating from within. The young Thomas did not see a deceitful person in his uncle. Instead, he saw a wise old man, full of love and adoration for his wife and family, but still holding a special place in the corner of his heart for his youthful love.

'No, Uncle,' he replied solemnly. 'You are not a bad person. You are a wise man whom I respect dearly. You are a loving husband, a good father and a great uncle. But you are also –' he took George Austen's letter from his uncle's hand, '– a faithful lover. I am certain that Miss Jane Austen left this world in peace. I do wish, however, that she was aware of how you felt and had the knowledge that you held her in such a high regard… it might have eased her pain.'

'Would it have helped?' Tom Lefroy gazed out the window at the bright silver moon hanging behind the thin veil of clouds. He whispered again, 'Would it have helped Thomas?'

'I might be wrong,' Thomas frowned as he stared into the letter. 'But I think, I feel, that Jane Austen would have known of your feelings already. Her last novel, _Persuasion_, indicated that she knew you well, that she had forgiven you for… how shall I say this… leaving her. I believe that she also knew that you still loved her in the best and purest way.' He folded the letter respectfully and placed it on the table. 'Yes, Uncle, I believe that Jane Austen knew that you loved her still.'

After a time, Thomas Langlois Lefroy responded, 'You know what, Thomas? I have been contemplating the same thought. When I went to England in 1817, a few months after Miss Austen's death, I travelled to Winchester with her dear brother Henry to pay homage. There, I sat alone.' The retired Chief Justice searched for his nephew's eyes. 'I cried helplessly… as I cried, I felt like Jane was beside me. She cast her most beautiful and peaceful smile and told me that she understood me. She forgave me for leaving her as I did. I could feel her touching my face, my trickling tears. And instantly I felt a peace that I had never felt before.' Thomas stood still in reverence as his uncle resumed, 'Yes, Nephew, I believe that Miss Austen knew that I loved her still, and she also had forgiven me, long before I asked for forgiveness.'

Utterly speechless, Thomas approached his frail old uncle and embraced him, allowing him to cry his silent, peaceful tears on his shoulder. A few moments passed and the senior Thomas Lefroy ceased crying and searched for a handkerchief. Young Thomas retrieved his own handkerchief and gave it to his uncle who made the better use of it.

'I thought I was too old for this, Nephew…' said his uncle as he cleaned his face.

With his uncle still clinging to him, Thomas replied, 'Not at all. In fact, I would be wailing if I were you. I am surprised at your ability to suppress all those memories and feelings and yet still live a peaceful life.'

'It was made somewhat better, Thomas, post my visit to Winchester. It truly helped. And dear Mary, bless her soul; her understanding and patience towards this old fool was tremendous; I could not stop thanking her for that.' Tom returned the handkerchief to his nephew. 'Now then dear Nephew, would you do me the honour of taking care of Mr. Austen's letter? I know not how long the Lord will grant me life, and I cannot trust it to anyone better than you as I know you will safeguard such a treasure.'

Thomas Lefroy nodded solemnly. 'I am honoured that you trust me, Sir. It was I who obtained the letter; let it be myself who takes care of it.' He reached for Mr. Austen's letter and placed it in his pocket book that he later tucked inside his pocket. He was about to suggest that they retire to rest when the door knocked. Turning their heads, both uncle and nephew saw Jane Christmas Lefroy entering the library in her white nightgown. Tom Lefroy's 'Guardian Angel' frowned to see both men still conversing at such late an hour of the night.

'Dear me, have you gone mad, Thomas? Do you not realise what time it is now? Father needs to go to bed. Actually he should have been in bed hours ago!'

'Now, now… my dearest Jane, do not fret,' her father chuckled. 'Thomas and I were just sharing some uncle-nephew moments… I was telling him some old stories.'

A flicker in Jane's eyes told Thomas that his cousin was aware of what the old Tom Lefroy was referring too. 'Ah…' she offered mysteriously as she aided her father to stand. 'And have you finished the entire story?'

'I think so, my dear, I think so,' said the very old Tom Lefroy as he leaned over her arm. 'The story is finished now, for I have told Thomas everything I know.'

'Ah, but you are wrong, my dearest venerable Uncle,' said Thomas as he helped father and daughter to walk. 'From what I have just learned, it is not yet finished.' As he left the room with them, he tapped Mr. Austen's letter stored inside his pocket. 'The story continues.'

-FIN -

_Author's note:_

_Phew! Finished at last! I am exceedingly sorry for the length of time I took to finish this part. Real life has her own ways of interfering with regency romance. But I am content that it is now finished. Of course, most of the scenes are my own imaginations. Yet, the quotation of the Cadell letter was true, and I am a firm believer that, although Thomas Lefroy did obtain the letter in London in 1840, he did that upon his uncle's (Thomas Langlois Lefroy) request._

_Thomas Langlois Lefroy died on __May 4__th__ 1869 in Bray, Ireland, at the age of 93._


End file.
